


The Watchdog's Chain

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: BDSM, Captivity, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Humbler, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Leashes, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mindbreak, Nipple Piercings, Orgasm Denial, Paris Era, Prostate Milking, Stockholm Syndrome, Unconscious Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: After the Gorbeau raid, Javert brings a captive Jean Valjean to a secret cell beneath the Prefecture, where a new life starts for Valjean...
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceBee/gifts).



There were rules and regulations for how to deal with a suspect. A known criminal, for example, should be taken to La Force. Under no circumstances should such a man be blindfolded, pushed into a carriage, driven to the prefecture and then dragged into a side entrance under cover of night, forced down a deserted stairway until he reached the cellars that hadn’t been used in a decade, and locked into an old cell there to await the pleasure of the current chief inspector.

Javert knew all of those rules and regulations very well, and in fact, the band of criminals known as Patron-Minette had been taken from the garret in the Gorbeau tenement straight to La Force this very day. But there had been one prisoner Javert had ordered his men to hold back—the gang’s victim, an aging gentleman tied to a chair.

Javert had recognized him immediately. There hadn’t been a single second of doubt. He’d unmasked him once; he’d recognize him again no matter where he went, no matter what new identity he wore as a mask.

This very man now found himself in a dark cell in the empty bowels of the prefecture, at the end of an underground corridor where no one had ventured in decades.

Javert eyed his prisoner with blatant pleasure. Valjean’s hands were cuffed, the blindfold still covering his eyes. Valjean seemed weakened by the torture of Patron-Minette. He should have been grateful that Javert had come when he had, but instead Valjean’s eyes had filled with despair when they looked at each other.

Now he was quietly kneeling on the cold ground.

Ever since Javert had first found the old, abandoned cells deep below the prefecture, he’d made a habit of coming down here once or twice per month. There was another room nearby that held dusty drawers and shelves; they’d been mostly empty except for a few forgotten implements, but over the years, with each of Javert’s visits, they had slowly filled.

Now, after one final glance at Valjean, he left to survey the supplies he had amassed. There was a straw mattress he finally took hold of, carrying it back to Valjean’s cell.

Valjean was still kneeling on the ground, blindfolded. At the sound of Javert’s boots, he turned towards him and called out his name.

Javert ignored him and returned to the storage room. Over the years, he’d gathered a small selection of implements. He couldn’t even say whether he had ever truly believed that one day, he’d get to use them. It had merely been an idle indulgence, little more than a daydream—a preparation for an event he was on some level aware would not come to pass, but which still gave him pleasure to prepare for.

Now that it had truly happened, the selection of tools spread out before him suddenly seemed unreal. For so many years, he’d indulged himself with the idea that if he ever were to find and arrest Jean Valjean, he might have to keep him under lock and key for a few days—Jean Valjean was a master of escape, after all, and Javert didn’t trust the turnkeys of La Force to keep him contained behind bars.

But here, beneath the stone walls of the prefecture, in cells no one remembered existed, there was no one Valjean could bribe, no opportunity to overpower a guard or squeeze through a window. As long as Javert made certain that Valjean had no access to a hidden file, this, at last, would be a cage even Jean Valjean could not escape from.

Javert poured water into a small bowl, then added a few drops of laudanum from a phial which he then carefully closed and returned to the drawer he’d taken it from. He ignored the other drawers and their contents; there would be time for that.

Back in the cell, Valjean was still waiting. This time, he seemed more agitated, his head twisting anxiously around when he heard the sound of Javert entering, and when Javert approached, he began pleading.

Javert ignored him. He placed the bowl on the ground, pushing it through the bars. Then he reached out and pulled off Valjean’s blindfold.

Valjean’s eyes were wild, his hair disheveled and wet with sweat. His eyes were gleaming; there was despair in them, but also pain. As Javert watched, a droplet of sweat ran down from his brow.

Javert smiled, then stood.

“Why are you doing this?” Valjean said hoarsely. “Please—tell me where I am. Let me at least—”

Javert turned away from him and left the room, closing the door behind him. He could hear his name again, shouted with enough force that he could hear it even through the closed door—but the sound would not carry through corridors and up dusty stairs. Down here, they were far from where the prefecture’s agents would gather in the morning.

Javert smiled and left the cellar behind, brushing dust from his coat. Once he reached his office, he lit a fire in his stove and sat down at his desk. Today had been a success; the arrest of Patron-Minette was a brilliant feat. He had a report to write. And meanwhile, Jean Valjean would have time to grow used to his cell.

By the time Javert was done, it was past midnight.

Javert stretched, then took hold of a lamp. On his way out, he gathered a few more supplies—bandages, a tin of ointment, a pitcher of clean water. Then, his steps echoing through empty corridors, he slowly made his way back to the cellars to check on the Prefecture’s newest prisoner.

Jean Valjean was asleep. He had collapsed on the straw mattress, his breathing deep and regular. The water bowl was empty.

Javert smiled, then unlocked the door to the cell and stepped inside. Valjean didn’t stir, even when Javert knelt down by his side. Valjean was still handcuffed, but even so Javert carefully shook his shoulder to make certain that the laudanum had done its work.

Valjean kept breathing slowly, his body relaxed. He remained asleep even when Javert began to cut off his shirt.

It was a fascinating view—Valjean was still strong and hale, a man in his prime. Javert had never seen him like this: in the hulks, he’d been filthy and sweaty, in Montreuil, he’d never stripped out of his clothes.

But now that Valjean was at last in Javert’s power, he had no way to hide from Javert, and Javert wouldn’t let this triumph be taken from him.

Slowly, Javert ran a hand over Valjean’s broad chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles and the slow beating of his heart. Then he explored further, his hand smoothing over Valjean’s shoulder, along his arm, until he finally encountered a wound that must have been left by Patron-Minette.

Carefully, Javert cleaned and bandaged it before he continued with his exploration. They appeared to have interrupted Thénardier and his gang just in time, because except for a patch of burned skin on his arm and several bruises, Valjean was unwounded.

Javert let his hand linger on Valjean’s stomach. Idly, he stroked it, then let his fingers follow the small trail of hair that led downward. When he reached Valjean’s trousers, he allowed his fingers to dip beneath, Valjean’s skin smooth and warm.

Valjean didn’t stir, continuing to sleep deeply even when Javert straightened at last and began to finish stripping him. It only took a few minutes until he had Valjean resting asleep on the straw mattress, completely naked. His legs were parted, his thighs still as powerful—and there, between them, nestled Valjean’s cock, shyly curled to the side although its size was still as impressive as Javert remembered.

Back in Toulon, he’d only been able to catch a quick glimpse. Now, he had Valjean at his disposal. Javert had never allowed himself to dream of such a moment, even when he’d found himself returning to this abandoned cell year after year. Even if he had, the reality of it would have surpassed his wildest dreams.

Here was Jean Valjean, the man who had haunted him for so many years, powerful and dangerous like a wild lion, now naked and asleep, utterly helpless and unable to defend himself.

Javert licked his lips, considering. Then he moved to lean over Valjean.

Valjean’s eyes were closed, his mouth relaxed. There was no frown on his face, no anger, no sullenness.

Javert ran a finger down his face, then curiously traced Valjean’s mouth. His lips were soft, and when Javert used his thumb to exert pressure, Valjean’s mouth opened easily for him. Keeping his thumb in place to hold his jaws open, Javert began to leisurely explore Valjean’s mouth, running his finger along his gums and feeling his tongue.

There were many ways for a convict to hide small tools, but even when Javert had reassured himself that Valjean had nothing hidden inside his mouth, he kept touching him, intrigued by the softness of his tongue and the thrill of being able to touch however he pleased, with Valjean unable to resist any of it.

Valjean’s breath was warm against his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Javert bent down again and pressed his lips to Valjean’s. Valjean’s lips were unresisting and soft. With a groan, Javert pushed his tongue into his mouth, and even that Valjean had no choice but to allow.

When Javert drew back at last, he was panting a little. He couldn’t take his eyes off Valjean. Valjean stretched out, utterly bare and defenseless, had something strangely noble about him—like an unconscious lion or a vanquished gladiator.

Once he had caught his breath, Javert continued with his exploration. Valjean’s body was firm and pleasing beneath his hands, and when he nudged his thighs gently, they fell open further, baring Valjean’s genitals for his perusal.

Valjean’s cock was soft and silken when Javert drew a finger along the impressive length. He closed his hand around it, then stroked up and down, watching as the foreskin slid over the tip of Valjean’s cock. Javert released him to pull back the foreskin, making certain that nothing was hidden there before he devoted his attention to the sensitive glans. He ran the pad of his finger around the crown, then squeezed a little to watch the small slit open and close. At last, Javert swallowed. With a quick glance at Valjean’s face to make certain that he was still asleep, he leaned close and ran his tongue over him, swirling around the head of his cock. Valjean’s skin was warm and smooth, and after a moment, Javert sucked him into his mouth, moaning at the sensation. Valjean remained soft, utterly unaware of what was happening to him, even when Javert scraped his teeth along him.

Valjean’s cock was slick with saliva when Javert at last let it slip from his mouth. Javert smiled, nudging the soft, vulnerable length upward to pay attention to Valjean’s balls instead.

The pouch that held Valjean testicles fit into his hand. His balls hung low and relaxed, unaware of the danger of their situation. Javert squeezed with his thumb until he’d learned their shape and weight, manipulating them within the scrotum until it felt warm and swollen. If Valjean had been awake, no doubt he would have been writhing by now, but unconscious as he was, Javert could explore to his heart’s desire and Valjean could not resist any of it.

At last, Javert rolled him onto his stomach. The sight of the scars that covered Valjean’s back in ornamental whorls made his heart beat faster, taking him back to that day he’d had him strung up in chains.

Savoring the moment, Javert ran his hands down Valjean’s back, following the trails of scars. At long last he reached Valjean’s buttocks. Even relaxed in drugged sleep as he was, his backside remained impressive. Javert curved his hands around his buttocks, squeezing gently, then harder, then pulling them apart. The crease between revealed fine, dark hair, Valjean’s hole tight and dusky.

Slowly, Javert touched him with a fingertip. The muscle didn’t even twitch. When he pressed inside, there was no resistance either apart from Valjean’s natural tightness. Carefully, Javert worked his finger in and out. The salve he’d brought would have made it easier, but even so it was not difficult to fully slide inside; Valjean’s body accepted him easily enough with only slight resistance. Javert crooked his finger, exploring within, but there was nothing to be found hidden there either.

With a thoughtful look, Javert at last drew back, watching how the pink muscle clung to the tip of his fingers in a gentle kiss.

“Do you want more?”

Valjean didn’t stir.

After a moment, Javert licked his lips again. Then he dipped a finger into the salve.

With the added slickness, Valjean’s hole spread open easily for him when he used two fingers. He indulged himself by rubbing the salve all around the rim of Valjean’s hole, then kept sliding his fingers in and out, Valjean’s muscle clinging tightly to him but offering no real resistance.

Had Valjean ever been fucked? He was so strong that it seemed unlikely that anyone could have forced him, and it was true that during the time Javert had been keeping an eye on him in the hulks, he’d never heard any rumors about Valjean being attached to another convict.

“You take this very well,” he murmured at last, amused, ignoring the fact that there was no answer from Valjean. “Have you ever had a cock inside you?”

Javert pulled his fingers out of him, then used his thumbs to gently spread the gleaming hole. Valjean was still limp and relaxed in his grasp, the tight opening pink and warm after his attention.

Javert swallowed. Then, very slowly, he reached down and opened the flap of his trousers.

He’d been hard since he’d stripped Valjean, although he’d done his best to ignore the constant ache. Now, Javert’s breathing sped up as he freed his cock. He spread a small amount of the salve over himself. Still moving very slowly, he settled in position behind Valjean. Valjean didn’t resist when Javert pulled his hips up to raise them, and when Javert pressed the tip of his cock against Valjean’s hole, there was no reaction either.

With a moan, Javert began to press inside, watching breathlessly how the pink muscle had no choice but to spread wide open around him—and still Valjean remained senseless, his body relaxed in Javert’s arms as he felt his cock sink fraction by fraction into the soft, welcoming heat of Valjean.

Once Javert was all the way inside, he had to pause for a moment, panting as he fought the instinctive urge to thrust into Valjean. Instead, he lowered himself and tugged Valjean’s unresisting body onto his side until they were resting on the mattress together, Valjean in Javert’s arms, Javert’s cock still deep within the heat of Valjean’s body.

Javert groaned against Valjean’s nape. He hadn’t though it would feel like this. He wanted to savor the sensation, and so he forced himself to roll his hips slowly, sliding in and out Valjean as gently as he could, trying to focus on the feeling of the delicious, hot silk of Valjean’s vulnerable insides clinging to his cock.

Almost as sweet was the sensation of Valjean limp in his arms, utterly helpless despite his immense strength. Javert ran a hand up and down Valjean’s chest as he kept fucking him slowly, moaning against his skin at the sensation.

Javert had never done this before either, although the truth was that he’d fantasized about it ever since seeing Valjean’s beastly body laboring in the heat of Toulon. It had been worth the wait, Javert thought as his hips rolled forward with luxurious slowness once more, the tip of his cock exploring deep inside Valjean’s yielding heat, the tightness of Valjean’s hole massaging up and down his cock with every thrust.

“You feel so good,” he breathed into Valjean’s ear. “It’s a pity you can’t feel me. I want to come so deep inside you that you’ll feel me wherever you go, whatever you do. I want you to taste me on your tongue until the end of your life.”

The thought alone was enough to make his hips speed up a little.

He could feel the slight bounce of Valjean’s buttocks every time he pushed deep inside him, and when Javert reached around, he found Valjean still soft, his balls still loose and low. He played with Valjean’s limp cock as he kept sliding inside, his tongue licking at Valjean’s nape before he began using his teeth to scrape over his skin. At last, Javert felt his climax building, first slowly, then faster, until it came with spurt after spurt while he kept rocking into Valjean’s unresisting body. With a groan he imagined himself filling the tender insides he’d explored earlier with his fingertips, his release filling Valjean so much deeper than the fingers of any guard had ever reached.

Even after he’d softened, Javert remained on the mattress, holding Valjean against him, reluctant to leave while Valjean’s body still held his soft cock in its warm embrace.

He nuzzled against Valjean’s nape, his fingertips idly plucking at Valjean’s nipples until they were tight and swollen, plump little nubs he could roll between his fingertips and scratch with his nail. Finally, when Javert realized how late it was getting, he rolled reluctantly away, his soft cock easily slipping free from between Valjean’s buttocks. Curiously, Javert bent over him to examine him once more and he found that despite the salve, Valjean’s hole was puffy and hot. When he curiously spread it open with his fingers again, frothy come ran out.

Javert smiled at the sight, then reluctantly withdrew his fingers and watched as the swollen muscle tightened up again. He cleaned Valjean up, then, for a final time, slicked some of the salve over and into his newly deflowered hole. Then, with a final sigh of satisfaction, Javert stood.

Once Valjean woke when the laudanum wore off, he would realize what had happened. It was a pity Javert couldn’t be there for that moment—but then, for now it was thrill enough to have this secret knowledge of Valjean. The next time they met, Valjean would be his usual blustery self—and all the while, Javert would look at him, thinking of what he’d looked like with Javert’s cock deep inside him.


	2. Chapter 2

Valjean regained consciousness only very slowly. It was less like waking from a dream and more like struggling upwards from the depth of a dark lake, murky waters all around him. When he finally made it to the surface, he was exhausted, his eyelids as heavy as lead. It was a struggle to open them.

For a long moment, Valjean failed to register his surroundings. He was utterly exhausted; his body ached, his mind seemed filled by a heavy fog, and he was content merely to rest on the ground, a part of him fearing even now that any moment, there would be the sound of guards ordering him to move.

At last, a vague memory returned: he was no longer in the hulks. That was long in the past. The last thing he remembered was the visit to a poor family in a garret.

Memories returned in a sudden rush: Thénardier’s trap, the gang of villains that had overwhelmed him and tied him to a chair, and then…

“Javert,” Valjean gasped, his eyes flying open as he instinctively tried to sit up—only to find that his hands were cuffed and that darkness surrounded him, dimly lit by a small lamp.

In its light, he could see that there were iron bars in front of him. He was in a jail—all alone in a cell, somewhere underground. The room before him was cloaked in shadows, but he seemed to be alone.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears of despair pricking at his lids, he struggled up onto his knees. His body ached—although, he now realized, there was a bandage on his arm where Thénardier had burned his skin.

But there was a different ache—a discomfort inside him every time he moved.

Even that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. It had been many years since he’d been forced to surrender to the indignity of such searches, but his body had been forced open many times by the hands of unkind guards. The sensation he now felt was much the same, and he found himself flushing in instinctive shame as he thought of Javert examining his unconscious body—but then, surely it wouldn’t have been Javert. Javert had arrested him, that was all. Valjean was in the power of the prison guards now, even if this prison seemed strangely empty, without the constant sounds of other prisoners he was used to.

Uncomfortably, Valjean shifted again, embarrassed by his nakedness—and then, to his horror, he felt a wet trickle between his legs, something warm and sticky that ran down his thighs. Before he could think, he’d reached out with his shackled hands, following the trail of wetness to its source.

Against his fingertips, his hole felt swollen and hot, aching even at the small touch. When he dragged his finger through the wetness and brought it forward, he half expected to see blood.

The light of the flickering lamp was dim—but even so, it sufficed to see that it wasn’t blood.

Valjean stared at his hands, his heart racing as he shuddered with a sudden chill.

He knew well enough what men might do to one another in prison—but he was alone in his cell. There was no other person that he could see. What had happened to him?

He swallowed against the taste of bile on his tongue, then realized all of a sudden what the bitterness coating his tongue had to mean.

He’d been drugged. He could remember it clearly now—he hadn’t slipped into unconsciousness in Thénardier’s garret. Javert had been there. Javert had arrested him. Javert had brought him to this cell, through a long, abandoned corridor, their steps echoing as they walked.

Javert had left him with a bowl of water. Once Valjean had recovered somewhat from his despair, he’d drunk the water. And after that, his memory was gone. He’d woken up like this. There’d been no other prisoners, no prison guards—only Javert.

Which meant that Javert had...

Valjean’s mind shied away from thought in horror. _Impossible._

Even if Javert had wanted that—to do it while he was unconscious...

Maybe it hadn’t happened. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe...

But he couldn’t find any other explanation for the drying slickness between his thighs and the residual bitterness on his tongue.

Valjean’s gaze fell on the bowl of water that was full once more. In a sudden burst of fury he grabbed hold of it and threw it through the bars, the water spilling all over the floor, the bowl itself hitting the wall on the opposite side and dropping to the ground with a metallic ring.

Afterward, the silence returned. No one answered even when Valjean began to call out in increasing distress. Eventually, the lamp dimmed more and more, then flickered out, leaving Valjean in utter darkness.

Eventually, he curled up on the small mattress in despair, wrapping his arms around himself as he sobbed.

***

The first sign of Javert’s return was the sound of boots on stone in the distance. Then a door opened and there was a light at last.

Only a few hours had passed until Valjean had woken again, but even so he was very thirsty, his tongue thick and fuzzy in his mouth. Every now and then he regretted his burst of anger—but then, what if the water had been drugged again? Perhaps Javert had expected to find him unconscious once more on his return?

Valjean had contemplated pretending to be asleep, but at the return of light and the sight of Javert, despair and rage and a deep, bitter shame washed through him so that he was on his feet, pressed against the bars of his cell, before he knew it.

“What are you doing? Where am I? What is this place?” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

Without bothering to answer him, Javert stopped, raising his lamp so that its light fell onto the upturned bowl where it had clattered onto the floor. Javert bent to take hold of it. Then, without another word, he turned and left with it, taking the light with him.

Left alone in the darkness, Valjean laughed bitterly until the laughter turned into tears. For a while he paced. At last, he settled down on his mattress again, his throat dry, his tongue aching for water.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before the sound of steps could be heard once more. This time, when the door opened and light filled his cell, Valjean awaited Javert pressed against the bars, desperate and silent.

Javert approached with the bowl in his hand. It was filled with water; Valjean was so thirsty now that he groaned at the sight of it, his hand reaching out instinctively before he snatched it back.

The water might be drugged again. But then, even so... Did he have a choice?

“It’s your decision,” Javert said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Another tantrum and you won’t drink.”

“Did you drug it?” Even now, looking at Javert standing in front of him, as he had so often in Montreuil, Valjean couldn’t quite believe it. “Why... why did you do it?”

Javert didn’t answer. He set down the bowl of water in front of the bars, close enough that Valjean could reach out and take hold of it. Then he turned away from Valjean, refilled the lamp that had given him some sparse light during the past day, lit it, and left without another word.

“Javert,” Valjean called out in desperation. “Javert!”

The name echoed through the empty room, but there was no answer, only the sound of Javert’s footsteps fading away in the corridor outside.

Valjean sank to his knees. Then he became aware of the bowl of water. He grabbed hold of it, fury rising in him once more—but he was so thirsty that after a moment, he swallowed down his rage. He brought it to his lips, hesitating again, a shudder running through him as he thought of losing consciousness, of Javert entering the cell while he was asleep, of Javert’s hands all over him, touching him as if he was no more than livestock sold for slaughter.

Valjean closed his eyes in despair, his throat so dry it ached. Then he drank.

***

Days passed in the same interminable rhythm. Instead of the sun, it was the light of the lamp that now divided night from day for Valjean. Javert would visit him twice per day. In the mornings, he would refill Valjean’s lamp with oil and light it, and for a few precious hours, the darkness would give way to a gloom by which Valjean could see the bars that held him and the dusty cellar that was his new home.

Javert never answered any of his questions. A few times, Valjean had shouted in his despair and gripped the bars of his cell in fury, rattling them; he quickly learned that giving into his anger led to punishment and the lack of water, food or light.

It had taken no more than a few days of this routine for his mind to slip back into the state that had seen him through nineteen years in the hulks. Valjean no longer shouted at Javert. He did as he was told. He accepted his bowl of water and his hunk of bread, and he spent long hours curled up on his straw mattress, staring out into the gloomy room while the light of the lamp flickered and shadows danced, thinking of Cosette.

Javert had never mentioned her. Javert didn’t know that she existed. Cosette was safe.

That was all that truly mattered.

***

“Come here. Hold out your hands.”

Today was different. Javert had never given him that order before.

Uneasily, Valjean followed and held out his hands through the bars, just as Javert had asked.

A moment later, a key was inserted into the lock of his shackles, and one of his wrists was freed—but only for Javert to fasten the shackle to one of the bars.

“Your other hand. Here.”

Valjean swallowed, then stretched out his arm to grip the bar Javert had indicated. A moment later, this wrist was shackled to an iron bar as well, his arms stretched far apart and upwards.

“Good. Now spread your legs.”

Again Valjean obeyed. There’d never been sense in disobeying a guard, after all. In the worst case, it would have meant death; in the best case, a beating.

Javert didn’t seem to have any interest in his death. Valjean supposed Javert might beat him if he proved too recalcitrant; so far, Javert had preferred to let hunger and thirst teach Valjean that old lesson, and Valjean had remembered quickly.

After Valjean’s ankles were secured to the bars as well, Javert opened the door to his cell and stepped inside. Today, he hadn’t just brought a pitcher of water to refill Valjean’s bowl—he had carried a bucket in with him, and Valjean quickly learned to what purpose.

“You reek,” Javert said.

Valjean bent his head and kept silent. A moment later, he heard a cloth being dipped into water and wrung out. Then Javert began to rigorously wash him. The soap he used was coarse; the sensation woke old memories as well.

Quietly, he suffered Javert’s touch, Javert’s hands trailing all over his back, then his shoulders and arms. Valjean tensed when at last, Javert’s hands wandered lower; Javert made an approving sound as he squeezed his buttocks, then spread him open to wash there as well.

A moment later, Javert put the cloth away and took hold of the soap. Valjean could hear him work up a lather in his hands. Then slick fingers rubbed against Valjean’s hole, making him instinctively flinch away.

“Hold still.” Javert laughed softly. “You weren’t so skittish in Toulon.”

Helplessly, Valjean clenched his fingers around the bars when Javert pressed in with one finger, then a second. The stretch ached; worse was the sensation of Javert’s fingers moving around inside him. Finally Javert pulled out again—but only for something else to press into Valjean next, hard and slick—the soap. It pushed in and out of him for long moments until his insides burned, Javert’s fingers stroking his hole stretched around it.

“That’s what happens when you think you can fight me. What would you rather have—this or my fingers?”

“This,” Valjean said sullenly, and Javert laughed.

“Have it your way then.”

Valjean squirmed uncomfortably. The slim bar of soap was still inside him, stretching him open. It wasn’t much larger than Javert’s fingers had been, but the soap was coarse and burned.

Little by little, the burning increased. Javert stepped around him and then out of his cell, closing the door and locking it again.

Valjean groaned, squirming as his aching hole tightened around the soap, his body trying to force it out. Instead, to his great horror, he could feel the muscle squeezing around the slippery length, sucking it inside, his swollen hole clenching in relief when the slick bar was fully inside his body.

It stung, worse than before, and Valjean panted miserably. When he raised his head again, he could see that Javert had turned away from him without another word and was now walking towards the door.

“Javert! Wait—please!” he called out in despair, but Javert didn’t even turn his head.

Valjean groaned when the door fell shut behind Javert and he was left alone in the cellar once more, the lamp flickering—and the soap an unfamiliar, hard presence inside him, the caustic suds stinging as his body cramped around it, unable to force it out.

By the time Javert returned an hour later, Valjean had sobbed himself hoarse, hanging in his bonds, his insides aching and inflamed. He shivered miserably when Javert’s hands ran up his thigh, his thumbs spreading his buttocks further apart for a look at him.

“You look cleaner now.” Javert chuckled. “But let’s check just to make certain.”

Valjean didn’t dare to utter a single word, full of terror that Javert might leave again. New tears leaked from his eyes when Javert’s thumbs teased at his swollen hole, then pulled it open.

“You’ve worked up quite a lather inside.” 

It hurt worse than before when Javert forced two fingers in. Inside, Valjean felt raw and sore. A little sob escaped him when Javert’s fingers nudged the soap.

“Relax.”

The hot burn of the soap increased as Javert’s fingers tried to extract it. Once Javert finally had a good hold of it, he idly worked it in and out of Valjean’s hole a few more times for good measure.

“There. Was that worth it?” Javert asked when he finally pulled it out.

Valjean hung his head, his body still cramping around the burning suds deep inside him. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“I hope you’ll remember that next time.”

Valjean was too exhausted to even think of protest when Javert finally stepped around to his front. Javert washed him briskly, the soap stinging as he rubbed it over Valjean’s nipples until they were tight and swollen. Then Javert knelt and took hold of his cock.

Valjean shivered when Javert pushed the foreskin down. The sting was worse when Javert rubbed the coarse soap over his glans, but Valjean didn’t dare to flinch away. Javert worked up a lather, then worked the suds carefully beneath his foreskin, making sure to rub repeatedly over the slit at the top as well until it stung fiercely. The burn was bad enough that Valjean barely realized that Javert had taken hold of his shaft and was washing it with brisk tugs, although an uncomfortable moan fled Valjean’s throat when Javert’s hand finally closed around his balls, washing them roughly with no care for their tenderness.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Yes,” Valjean said, his eyes stinging as he looked at Javert.

Javert smiled briefly. “Let’s make sure you do.”

Valjean watched in terror as Javert once more readied himself to leave. By his count, it had to be morning still—Javert always refilled his light during his morning visit, and the lamp had only just begun to burn down. If Javert left now to begin his workday, he wouldn’t return until evening...

“Javert, please! Please! Don’t leave me like this!” he begged, his body burning. It was no longer just his hole that had been filled by the caustic suds—Javert had rubbed them over and into his tenderest places, the glans of his cock burning as if on fire. Even the inside of his cock felt as if Javert had held a flame to it as some of the suds seeped into the small hole.

“Please! Javert!”

Javert didn’t react to his pleas.

***

Time passed slowly, each day still following the same routine. Steps in the distance would announce Javert’s arrival. Then the creaking of the opening door followed, and with it the light of Javert’s lamp chasing away the darkness.

Despite the terror that was Valjean’s constant companion, there was now also a deep, instinctive rush of grateful relief that Javert had come. He’d watch quietly as Javert set down his lamp and then refilled Valjean’s own lamp, its flickering light Valjean’s only companion for a few hours every morning.

Then Javert came up to the bars where Valjean was already waiting, surrendering to his fate for all that he feared the biting sting of the soap in his most sensitive places. 

But for once, Javert didn’t proceed with his usual morning ritual. Instead, he gestured for Valjean to come even closer, and when he did, Javert tilted his head, smiling, and looked him up and down.

“Yes... The description certainly fits,” he muttered. “Can you imagine my surprise when someone came to see me in the duty room today? A lawyer—a baron—and his fiancée. They were looking for a man who disappeared. A man called Ultime Fauchelevent.”

Valjean stiffened in shock, and Javert’s smile widened at his reaction.

“Strange, isn’t it? I made some covert inquiries myself, and it turns out that our baron’s beautiful fiancée is not, in fact, the well-mannered little bourgeoise she pretends to be. Do you know who I think she is? She has to be that child that disappeared from the inn in Montfermeil. Fantine’s child. And you’re the mysterious M. Fauchelevent, her father.”

Shock froze Valjean to the spot. His hands came up to clench around the bars so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“What did you tell her?” he asked, his voice sounding dim and distant in his own ears as if he was listening to a stranger.

It was one thing for Javert to return Valjean to misery. He’d never deserved the life he’d stolen, a part of him had always been aware of that. But for Javert to ruin Cosette’s happiness...

“You thought to keep that a secret, didn’t you?” Javert shook his head with a derisive smile. “Cosette. That’s her name. Cosette, Fantine’s child—and now about to be the wife of a baron, a lawyer. That is quite something. I doubt that he’d marry her if he knew...”

“You can’t tell her.” Valjean’s throat was so tight every word hurt. “Please. Please. She doesn’t know...”

“Ah. So you deceived her about yourself as well? I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have told both of them.”

“What did you tell her?” Valjean whispered, his heart aching as if each of Javert’s words were a knife he’d sunk into his chest.

Javert’s lips curled in disdain. “If you think there’s help coming, you’re mistaken. This time you won’t escape your sentence. I sent her away—her and the baron. I took down their report and told them I would personally make inquiries. And then I burned the report.”

Valjean laughed despairingly even as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears running down his face regardless. “Good.”

If he was sentenced to life in darkness, it was only fair. He could bear it—as long as Cosette remained untouched by it. She was safe, that was what mattered. She was about to marry—a lawyer who could keep her safe from Javert, a baron who would give her the life she deserved.

What did he care about the darkness that surrounded him? She would be happy in the light.

***

As weeks passed, Valjean lost all track of time. Little by little, his existence had grown smaller and smaller until it seemed focused only on two events—Javert’s arrival in the morning, when he would refill the lamp and light it, and his visit in the evening. By now, the faintest sound of Javert’s boots in the distance had Valjean’s heart start to race with feverish excitement. He’d learned to let Javert touch him wherever he pleased—at a word from Javert, he’d bend over, his buttocks pressed against the bars to let Javert work the burning soap in and out of his hole without a word of protest.

Javert hadn’t fucked him so far. That, more than anything, made Valjean start to doubt his own memories. Surely he must have been wrong—maybe that first morning he awoke in his cell had never happened. Maybe the stickiness between his thighs he remembered had been the result of a release he’d found in a dream—it made more sense than Javert making use of him while he was unconscious.

In the weeks that had passed, he had learned many things about Javert. Javert did not like it when he shouted. Javert did not like it when he asked questions. Javert did not like it when he hesitated to follow a command.

What Javert liked was quick, silent obedience, and although Valjean hated himself for it, that obedience had slowly become second nature until being given an order was enough to spark a desperate hunger in his stomach—any chance to please Javert was welcome. Any chance to show his obedience, to make Javert smile, to make him linger for a few extra minutes or touch him in approval or fill his lamp with an extra measure of oil.

There was no other life but Javert now.

***

“Would you like to go outside?”

At first Valjean thought that he’d heard wrong. Javert rarely asked him questions; if he did, it was often just the choice between two equally unpleasant punishments—although here, too, Valjean had learned to eagerly pick the more distasteful choice, merely because it made Javert happy.

Now he looked at Javert, uncertain. Was it a test? What would be the correct answer—what was it Javert wanted to hear him say?

Finally, Valjean nodded warily. His body was freshly scrubbed, his nipples stung and his hole ached, the crown of his cock raw and burning from the soap. Any other day, Javert would leave him. But he didn’t want Javert to leave. Even if he’d said the wrong thing, it might make Javert stay for a few more minutes to punish him...

“Turn around,” Javert said. “Your back against the bars.”

Valjean obeyed. From behind, he could feel Javert reach through the bars and grab hold of his balls, then pull them sharply backwards. The pressure of Javert’s grip hurt, but it was a pain he was used to. The sensation that followed, on the other hand, was completely new: something rigid clamped down around his scrotum, firmly squeezing the skin above his balls and keeping them pulled away from his body. The sensation was agonizing, and when Javert ran his nails over the stretched skin of his ballsack, Valjean groaned.

“Good. Now your hands.”

Valjean hastily obeyed, feeling the familiar weight of iron around his wrists as shackles closed behind his back, chaining his hands to the bars. When he shifted his hips experimentally to alleviate the ache of his balls being so painfully pulled backward, he soon realized what it was Javert had used: some sort of rod clenching around his balls, keeping them pulled back from his body—a horizontal length of wood or iron so long that it didn’t fit between the bars. Trapped, Valjean could not move forward, and the bars kept him from moving back to ease the ache. Whatever tool this was, it kept him shackled to the bars by his balls.

Apparently satisfied with his preparation, Javert now at last came to enter his cell.

“This will keep you still,” he said, looking pleased as he ran a hand down Valjean’s chest, idly playing with his soft cock for a moment. “Now don’t move.”

Javert took something small from his pocket—a cloth-wrapped bundle of utensils Valjean hadn’t seen before. He did recognize the implement Javert chose from the bundle. A large needle gleamed in the light Javert had brought with him. It was a thick, sturdy needle, of the sort that was used to pierce leather.

With a small smile, Javert held it thoughtfully to one of Valjean’s nipples. It was still drawn up into a tight, aching nub from the vigorous scrubbing Javert had given him. Then Javert pushed the needle into his nipple without any warning. Valjean groaned, instinctively trying to jerk away from the pain, although he was immediately stopped by the agonizing pull on his trapped balls.

“You’re going to rip them off if you keep squirming.” Javert laughed softly. “Not that you need them.”

His eyes burning, Valjean stilled in misery. He watched, his head hanging low, as Javert continued to slowly push the needle deeper into his flesh. When the tip finally came out on the other side, a drop of crimson welled up. Javert bent forward to lick at it, then idly twisted the needle while Valjean groaned.

Sweat had broken out all over his body. His nipple felt as if it was on fire, throbbing with every beat of his heart. When Javert twisted the needle again, Valjean moaned, heat coiling in his stomach at the strange sensation.

“Pretty,” Javert said, then pulled the needle out—but only to push something else through the small hole, a hoop of gleaming metal that made Valjean’s nipple throb and ache. 

Valjean shivered when Javert idly rubbed his finger over his nipple. It hurt—even now he could feel the hot pulse of pain. But at the same time, the sensation sent a shiver down his spine, and he moaned again when Javert gave the hoop a little twist.

Then Javert took hold of the needle again. This time, Valjean knew what was to come. Even so, the sharp pain of it took his breath away. Valjean’s body continued to throb, a tingling sensation running up and down his spine as Javert twisted the needle, his balls throbbing with the same ache, still sharply pulled back and shackling him to the bars.

By the time Javert was done with him, his nipples were swollen and hot, pulsing around the cool hoops of metal that pierced through them. Javert had fastened a chain to them, which for now he’d let dangle loose.

There were no more explanations, although Javert at last released him from his confinement. And then, dazed and confused, Valjean watched as Javert held the door of his cell open.

“Come on,” Javert said impatiently.

Terrified of displeasing Javert, just as he was terrified of the door that had never been open in all the weeks or months he had spent in this cell, Valjean hesitantly moved through it. Then Javert took hold of the chain he’d connected to the hoops that threaded through Valjean’s aching nipples, and just like that, Valjean found himself led out of the gloomy prison that had been the only home he’d known for so long.

Javert led him through several deserted corridors and up dusty stairs, keeping a firm hold on the chain. Valjean’s nipples still throbbed with pain and heat so that he had no eyes for where Javert led him; his attention was taken up by the need to focus on Javert and follow his slightest change in speed or direction, so as to keep the chain from tugging on his aching nipples.

Valjean did not realize that they’d made it outside until Javert stopped. For the first time in many, many weeks, Valjean felt a gentle wind against his face.

It was dark, but Valjean was used to darkness. Above him, the moon hung in the sky, nearly full, and the firmament was full of glistening stars. Valjean stared at them in awe, overwhelmed by the sensation of the wind against his bare skin and damp grass beneath his feet. He could hear sounds as well—the rustling of leaves, a distant shutter clattering down, hooves on cobblestones.

“On your knees,” Javert said, and Valjean dropped to the ground, his eyes still gazing in disbelieving wonder at the garden before him.

He spread his thighs wide when Javert touched him, watching the blades of grass before him move in the silvery light of the moon, so distracted that he didn’t even realize what Javert was doing until he felt a familiar, aching pressure. Javert had pulled his balls back once more and clamped the bar around them that he must have used in the cell. There, it had kept Valjean from moving because it was too big to pass between the bars. Valjean was not entirely certain what the use of it was out here—but then, it did not need to be of any particular use, as long as it pleased Javert.

“Try to sit up,” Javert now said.

Without thinking, Valjean followed the command, only to groan in sudden pain when the mere attempt stretched his balls further away from his body than was bearable. Panting, his balls throbbing as fiercely as his nipples now, he sank back down in confusion.

“Good.”

Javert patted his shoulder, then took hold of the chain again. Through tearing eyes, Valjean watched as he connected it to a long, sturdy chain dark with rust, of the sort that was used to chain a watchdog at night. Then, without another word, Javert turned away from him. A moment later, Valjean heard the sound of a door being shut. Then the garden was silent.

For long minutes, Valjean didn’t dare to move, terrified of inadvertently doing something that would anger Javert. But as time passed and the moon moved across the sky, it became impossible to resist the temptation of the garden before him. How long had he been locked in his cell underground? Weeks—months. To feel the wind on his face, to breathe in the cool air, to have the light of the moon by which to see the green, living things surrounding him now seemed so impossible that he was certain he had to be in a dream.

Only the punishing grip squeezing his testicles reminded him of the fact that this was real. Javert had allowed him a garden—but in this garden, he was not allowed to stand and walk like a man. In this garden, he was only allowed to crawl on his knees like a dog, naked and exposed to any who might look out of a window.

The thought that someone might see him made Valjean flush with deep shame. It was late, and surely Javert would not have taken him from his cell if someone might see—but even so, was it not possible that someone had stayed late just like Javert?

Uncertain, he hesitated where Javert had left him. But as the minutes passed, the urge to explore grew impossible to ignore. It was the first taste of freedom he’d had in months... even if that freedom came at the cost of his humiliation and in the shape of a watchdog’s chain.

Valjean began to crawl forward. He had to move slowly, the bar behind his thighs that was clenching relentlessly around his testicles an even harsher master than Javert. Every movement was bought at the stinging reminder that his body was not his own, and by the time he reached the tree he had set out for, he was breathless, his scrotum swollen and pulsing with fierce heat. His nipples still throbbed as well—but that throb was warm and almost pleasurable now. When he hesitantly touched one of his nipples, he found it hot to the touch, a spark of heat running along his spine when his finger jarred the metal loop inside it.

Embarrassed, he hastily lowered his hand, craning his head to see if Javert was watching him from a window—he did not think Javert would have been pleased, although Javert had not left him with any orders. Even so, after this Valjean refrained from touching himself although his nipples continued to ache warmly, the breeze of the cold wind against them making him shift every now and then in mortification at the pleasure this caused.


	3. Chapter 3

From his window, Javert had a good view of the small garden in the inner courtyard of the prefecture. It was very late, but Javert had never minded staying late until the building was deserted and quiet and he could work in peace.

And nowadays, his long hours allowed him to indulge in one of the few pastimes he had found it worth wasting his time on.

The garden in front of his window was small, surrounded entirely by the walls of the prefecture. Dark windows looked out onto a small square of grass. There was only enough space for two trees, but the sight of their green leaves was often a welcome diversion during his long work days—especially nowadays, when the sight of the trees and the grass beneath them reminded him of another sight that could be found there during some nights, when the moon shone down on leaves and bushes and a chained creature.

Javert kept Valjean’s moments in the garden a rare occurrence. He’d made certain that there was no schedule to it. He did not want Valjean to become used to it—it wasn’t something Valjean had any right to expect.

Still, the sight of Valjean naked and exposed in the garden amused him, especially since the wooden tool he’d clamped around Valjean’s testes had so far done its job admirably and kept Valjean on his hands and knees, where he belonged.

Today, Javert had taken out the steel hoops he’d threaded through Valjean’s nipples, but only to adorn them with new hoops—thicker ones that had made Valjean tremble when Javert had slowly threaded them through the holes in his nipples, although of course Valjean had borne it without flinching away. Valjean knew better than that now. He had looked good, his nipples constantly swollen and erect, even more sensitive than before so that when Javert led him by the leash connected to them, Valjean followed as eagerly as a well-trained dog to avoid Javert tugging on them.

Three hours passed before Javert finished his work and went back outside to fetch Valjean. It was very late—but that didn’t matter. Javert did little more than sleep in his small rooms nowadays.

At the sight of him, Valjean eagerly spread his thighs, presenting his reddened, swollen testicles. Javert squeezed them thoughtfully until Valjean groaned. They felt heavy and full, and a watchful gaze at Valjean’s cock showed Javert that he wasn’t entirely soft when he opened the wooden stock to allow Valjean to stand.

Javert had been wondering if that problem would come up sooner or later. Fortunately, he’d had enough time to contemplate how best to deal with it.

Back in the cellar, Javert made Valjean wait instead of immediately returning him to his cell. That was another interruption of Valjean’s usual routine, but Valjean took it well, standing perfectly still without the slightest attempt to look for open doors. Instead, his eyes followed Javert, attentive and a little fearful, just as it should be, ready to spring into immediate action at any command.

Javert released his hold on the chain. It dangled down Valjean’s chest instead, its weight tugging slightly on Valjean’s reddened nipples. He exhaled softly in response, but didn’t move otherwise, even though his nipples were tightly drawn up and swollen around the new, larger piercings.

Javert touched a nipple, then pinched it between his fingertips. The nub was hot and sensitive enough that even as well-trained as Valjean was, he shifted slightly before he immediately fell still again with a worried look at Javert’s face.

Javert ignored him, instead taking hold of the new piercing to twist and turn it until Valjean’s breath was coming fast. Javert repeated his actions with the other nipple, tugging lightly on the piercings until he could see Valjean’s throat working to hold back a moan.

Idly, Javert reached down to adjust himself in his trousers. The sight had made him harden—but this was neither the time nor the place to indulge himself. He had higher standards than that. Instead, he stepped behind Valjean and ran one hand down his back, feeling the shifting muscles and gnarled old scars.

The whip was one way to teach Valjean better manners, but it had failed in the past. Fortunately, he’d had a lot of time to think of better methods.

“Bend forward,” he said.

Valjean immediately did as he was told, his buttocks parting to show his hole, still red and sensitive from the scrubbing Javert had given him in the morning. Valjean held still for that without protest now, accepting that his body belonged to Javert, not to him, and if Javert wanted to shove the coarse soap up his hole, he’d just have live with that.

All things considered, it hadn’t taken him too long to learn that lesson. If he could learn that, he would learn other lessons too.

Idly, Javert stroked Valjean’s buttocks, admiring the plump curve and the prompt obedience. Then he slid two fingers into him. Valjean groaned in surprise, his body tightening around him convulsively, although at least Valjean managed to remain in position.

Javert’s nostril’s flared as he watched Valjean’s hole try to constrict around him, as if Valjean’s body was instinctively trying to force him out of it. No, that particular lesson had not been learned to Javert’s satisfaction yet, he’d been wrong about that. But it would come. He knew how sweet Valjean could feel, after all. He’d slid into his body before, Valjean’s hole warm and soft and willing—it had been the laudanum that had made Valjean so accommodating, but he’d learn that lesson yet.

All it took was patience—and perhaps a harsher taskmaster.

Javert fucked him with his fingers, sharp, hard thrusts that forced little gasps from Valjean as his body began to tremble. Valjean’s hole was softer now, no longer clenching quite so desperately around Javert—but for entirely the wrong reason.

The lesson Valjean had yet to learn was that he had no right to offer even the smallest resistance, because his body belonged to Javert and his hole existed to give Javert pleasure. Instead, Javert could see that Valjean had begun to harden, his body taking a selfish, greedy pleasure in the penetration, as if Javert existed to serve _him_.

But he’d break him of those habits yet.

“You like that?” Javert murmured, viciously rubbing his fingers over the spot that made Valjean’s already tense body tighten further, his thighs trembling as his cock jerked. “Well? Do you?”

He usually didn’t encourage Valjean to speak, but he wanted to hear him admit it. He pushed inside again, and Valjean moaned helplessly.

“Up,” Javert said, keeping his fingers inside him. “Now answer.”

Valjean shuddered, his hole clenching around Javert’s fingers again. “Yes,” he whispered hoarsely moments later.

How long had it been since he’d last spoken? Javert didn’t like that he’d had to interrupt that particular lesson either, but at least Valjean had learned it quickly. There’d be no reason for him to speak once this was done.

Javert twisted his fingers a little, rubbing more gently, watching as Valjean’s balls gave a little twitch, as if they had any right to decide where and how Valjean spilled his seed.

Valjean groaned, and Javert idly rubbed Valjean’s hip as he watched him start to rock back into his touch. How far would Valjean go to take his own pleasure?

It only took another minute until Valjean dared to speak up, still trembling on Javert’s fingers, the words coming softly and hesitantly—perhaps it was indeed something he had puzzled over for a while.

“Why don’t you fuck me?”

Javert smiled although Valjean couldn’t see it, thinking again of the vision Valjean had been in his helplessness, his body utterly at Javert’s disposal—the way it should be.

“Because I don’t fuck animals,” he said, then pulled out of Valjean’s body and slapped Valjean’s exposed testicles hard.

Valjean cried out in agony, but Javert now grabbed his balls tightly with his left hand to keep him from escaping, following it up with another slap and another, the blows coming harsh and quick despite Valjean’s agonized sobs.

When Javert contemptuously let him go at last, Valjean collapsed on the floor, knees bent as he sobbed. His cock was no longer hard, Javert noted with satisfaction.

“If I ever see you think you can steal pleasure again like the thief you are, you will regret it.” Javert used his boot to nudge Valjean’s balls, now red and swollen to twice their size. “I should have known you’re too much of a beast to control yourself. But a beast that doesn’t obey is leashed and caged. You’ll learn that lesson yet.”

***

Valjean’s lesson started the next morning.

Valjean took to it quickly. It had not taken much to teach it—a small addition to his cell and another small addition to his body.

Inside Valjean’s cell, Javert had fixed a rounded pole of gleaming steel to the wall, low to the ground. Valjean had watched him at work, eyes wide and worried, but when Javert was done and motioned for him to approach, he quickly scuttled closer, remaining on his knees.

“Lick it until it’s wet.”

Javert threaded his fingers through Valjean’s hair as he watched him obey eagerly and nervously, licking all around the rounded tip and the smooth, long shaft of cold steel until his lips were swollen and wet and the steel slick with his saliva.

“Now turn around. Fuck yourself on it.”

Valjean tensed, the fear in his eyes intensifying, but even so there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation.

Good. Perhaps Valjean would learn this lesson faster than Javert had feared.

Javert could see the moment the hard steel first penetrated Valjean. Valjean’s eyes closed instinctively, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as he forced himself to push past his body’s initial resistance, his hole stretching around the rounded tip as he panted. Then it was fully inside. Valjean exhaled in relief, his hips pushing back almost leisurely to let the hard rod slide deep into his hole. He did not succeed entirely—halfway through, he gasped, eyes fluttering open again to gaze at Javert in terror even as a breathless moan broke free from his lips, his back arching as his hips made a soft, circular motion and his cock started to fill.

Javert laughed in derision. Just as he’d feared.

He grabbed hold of the chain threaded through Valjean’s piercings and held it tightly, his hand delivering a stinging slap to Valjean’s rebellious cock that made Valjean cry out, his body shuddering—caught between the steel penetrating him and Javert’s tight grip on his pierced nipples.

“You really are an animal. Sometimes I wonder if maybe you truly don’t want to learn. I’ve spent so much time trying to correct you, and this blatant disrespect is what I get. Maybe I should just leave and let you stay here. You can continue to fuck yourself on it like the beast you are then. You’d like that, no doubt.”

“No,” Valjean said, his eyes gleaming with desperate tears as he shuddered, still filled by the hard steel.

Javert twisted the chain once more, just because he could, and in response Valjean moaned, his hips arching again as if he truly couldn’t help himself.

“Please,” Valjean gasped regardless. “I want to learn. I promise. Please don’t leave. I can behave, I can learn to, please...”

“Can you?” Javert smiled, then slapped his cock again, Valjean flinching but only managing to impale himself deeper so that he moaned despite the pain.

“Maybe you’re more work than you’re worth. All this time spent feeding you and cleaning you—I even took you out into the garden. Are you worth all that work, I wonder?”

“Please,” Valjean begged hoarsely, tears spilling over and dripping down his cheeks. “I can learn. I can be good. Please don’t leave me.”

Javert released the chain and ran a finger down Valjean’s wet cheek in contemplation. With a desperate sob, Valjean turned his head to lean into his touch, rubbing his cheek against Javert’s hand like an animal begging for affection.

“Please, whatever it takes, I’ll learn, I’ll be good!”

Javert smiled as he watched him. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the second part of Valjean’s lesson—or his punishment.

For several weeks now Javert had contemplated how such a lesson could be taught if it became necessary. In the end, he’d settled on a very simple design. A blacksmith had created it for him; the man had asked no questions about its purpose, and Javert had paid well for his service.

Now Javert opened the simple mechanism. A small hinge enabled him the open a cylindrical shape made of gleaming steel. On the inside, spikes of the same steel were situated.

Javert grabbed hold of Valjean’s cock, which had fortunately decided to remain soft, and clasped the steel cylinder around it. It snapped shut with a satisfying, metal clang while Valjean shuddered, wide-eyed, feeling the threatening bite of the spikes.

If he hardened even a little, they’d dig into the sensitive flesh of his cock. There was no way Valjean would manage to harden—there was simply no space. The spikes would draw blood before he was even half-hard, the clasp of it around Valjean’s cock so tight that even soft as he was, he was unable to pull it off, unless he wanted the spikes to slice into the sensitive crown of his cock.

A second device of metal clenched around Valjean’s balls. It was heavy, the weight of it enough to stretch the scrotum so that his balls hung exposed and vulnerable between Valjean’s legs. This device had spikes on the inside as well. Javert felt a wave of warm satisfaction when he tightened it until they bit into Valjean’s balls, the tender globes squashed into an oval shape as Valjean made a low, pained sound, trembling.

“There’s your lesson,” Javert murmured with deep satisfaction. “If that isn’t enough to teach you, I’d be surprised.”

Valjean was tense, his muscles straining as he held himself up. The rod of steel was still inside his body, but the pleasure he’d so wantonly enjoyed earlier was gone from his face, his lips bruised where he’d bitten them and his eyes wet and dark with pain now.

“Come on,” Javert said. “Rub yourself against it like the animal you are. The way you did earlier. Arch your back for me again.”

Reluctantly, Valjean did as he was told, his buttocks rising up as he pushed back against the steel—and there it was, a moan breaking free from his throat just a moment before he gasped in pain as his cock started to swell again and made intimate acquaintance with the harsh spikes surrounding it.

Javert smiled and rose from his crouch. He took hold of the bowl that usually held Valjean’s water. It was empty now. He placed it on the ground beneath Valjean’s hips.

“Did I say you could stop? Fuck yourself on it like the animal you are.”

Panting in misery, Valjean’s hips rose again, his buttocks tensing as he pushed back and forth, the phallus relentlessly massaging his insides as he did as Javert had demanded.

When Valjean found the spot that had made him lose control earlier he groaned, his hips jerking back and forth without thinking as animal instinct took over, his body glutting itself on pleasure—and then he sobbed and went limp as his cock twitched helplessly, the spikes brutally interrupting the way it had dared to harden again.

Javert took a threatening step forward. Valjean’s eyes flew open in sudden panic when he realized that he’d stopped despite Javert’s order. A moment again, his back was arching once more as he chased the pleasure he’d found earlier, trembling when he hit the right angle to pleasure himself despite his fear of the pain that would follow.

And the pain did follow. It was almost impressive, the way Valjean’s body refused to learn its lesson—but he would learn, eventually.

As Javert watched, a first drop of fluid began to seep from the tip of Valjean’s trapped cock as his shaking hips continued to buck back against the steel rod he was impaled on. Valjean sobbed when the iron spikes bit into his cock again, and this time Javert reached out, smiling, to wipe a tear from Valjean’s face just as a string of precome dripped into the bowl he’d placed beneath Valjean.

“That’s it. Just like that.” Pleased, Javert reached out to give the chain a little tug, then stood. “By the time I come back, that bowl will be full.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. He knew that Valjean knew that. And he knew that no matter how torturous Valjean’s morning would be, he’d milk himself for Javert—because disobeying Javert frightened him far more at this point.

It was a pleasing point to consider, and the smile remained on Javert’s face all the way back to his office.


	4. Chapter 4

Valjean could not say how much time had passed. Twice more, Javert had allowed him into the garden—whether that meant that it had been two weeks or two months was impossible to tell. 

His days had a new routine now that he’d feared at first, but which he’d quickly come to accept, as he accepted everything else Javert gave him.

In the mornings, when Javert first came to his cell, he’d scrub him as he always did until Valjean’s body was burning, inside and out, brutally cleansed by the coarse soap. Then Javert would put the iron spikes on him, a torturous device which he’d slowly begun to welcome, because despite the pain it caused, it kept him from displeasing Javert.

After that, Valjean was left to his own devices. Once, he would have curled up again on his straw mattress in misery; now he carefully licked the iron phallus Javert had installed in his cell until it was wet, then turned and carefully let it slide into his body. The penetration felt good; the iron was smooth and cold, soothing his insides after the sting of the coarse soap, and as time passed his hole learned to accept the penetration easily, so that Javert remarked on it approvingly one morning when he pushed the soap into him.

Valjean thought of Javert’s praise now as he raised his hips, slowly moving back and forth as he fucked himself on the iron rod. He’d learned just which angle was good—so good that still, even now, the burning pleasure took his breath away, even though it was immediately followed first by terror and then, a heartbeat later, his base body’s disobedience as his cock tried to harden.

It was a torturous, never-ending cycle of pleasure and pain, and the longer it went on, the more Valjean despaired of ever pleasing Javert. His swollen scrotum was on fire, clasped by the same cruel grip of spiked steel that was tormenting his cock—but even so he saw that fluid had begun to gather in the bowl beneath him. He pushed back again with a sob, feeling the slide of the cold iron into his burning insides as he tried to massage more of the fluid out of his aching balls.

By the time nothing else would come, his balls burned worse than his hole, all of his limbs trembling as he at last eased himself off the steel phallus.

The bowl was half-full. That was usually all he could manage, now that Javert was milking him dry every day. Valjean barely managed to drag himself to his mattress to collapse there. The lamp was still burning, and in its flickering light he watched the far wall and the closed door there, listening for the sound of Javert’s steps.

It always came these days, now that Valjean was finally learning how to please Javert.

By the time Javert opened the door, Valjean had sat up, heart racing with equal parts terror and relief. He remained obediently on his knees as Javert entered the cell to inspect first the bowl and then his balls. Javert squeezed them hard enough to make Valjean groan and weighed them in his palm, then nodded and took hold of the bowl. The amount Valjean had milked from himself passed inspection as well.

Then Javert placed the bowl in front of him and watched as Valjean obediently began to lap up his seed. It was all the breakfast he would have, Valjean knew that. He pressed his tongue against the bowl and eagerly licked up string after string of his come, desperate to show Javert how grateful he was for what he was given.

Then, once the bowl was empty and clean, Javert filled it with water for him before he freed Valjean from the metal encasing his genitals. There was enough oil in the lamp to give Valjean a few more hours of flickering light, but even so he watched sadly as Javert left.

Javert would be back late at night, and he would bring Valjean food. It was something to look forward to. Even so, Valjean was unable to take his eyes from the door, listening for the footsteps he knew wouldn’t come for many hours, his body empty and exhausted.

***

There had been no sign that would have made Valjean expect a change in his routine. One day, he woke from a deep, dreamless sleep, his limbs heavier than usual and his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth, to the strange sensation of a soft mattress beneath him and dazzlingly bright sunshine on his face.

He stared into the light for long minutes, barely able to believe what he saw. He had forgotten what sunlight was like—for so very long, all he’d had was the flickering light of the lamp and every now and then the cold light of the moon.

But the light that was falling onto him was bright and golden, which was how he knew it had to be a dream.

Little by little, Valjean’s eyes became used to the brightness. It was only when he realized that the sun was shining through a window and that there were walls surrounding him that he began to understand that he wasn’t dreaming after all.

He was resting in a bedroom. There was a desk by the window with a chair, and several shelves full of books. There was a bed on which he was lying. There were no bars in front of the window.

Valjean swallowed, confused and afraid at having been torn so abruptly from the life he knew. Then he realized that the bitter aftertaste in his mouth was familiar—he’d tasted it when he’d first woken in the cell, his limbs feeling just as sluggish.

Now, just like then, there was a slight ache deep inside him—and the by now familiar sensation of a stretch, his hole spread wide around some sort of implement left inside him. The spiked metal clamps were nowhere in sight, but his cock was soft, curled against his thigh.

When Valjean reached between his legs, his fingertips encountered something smooth and wooden that kept him open. He shied away from it immediately in embarrassment. Whatever it was, Javert had left it inside him intentionally, and he wouldn’t be pleased at all to know that Valjean had interfered with his work.

His thighs were still sticky with the half-dried remnants of fluid that must have trickled from his hole. Valjean closed his eyes, a sharp pang deep in his stomach when he realized what had happened.

Javert had drugged him and made use of him while asleep. Javert had found release inside him—not trusting Valjean to be able to behave. The thought filled Valjean with deep mortification, and a sick awareness of all the ways in which he was lacking.

For how long had Javert tried to correct his behavior now? Javert had wasted so much time on him, and still Valjean failed to please him.

Then a worse thought reared its head. What if Valjean had been left here? What if Javert had grown tired of trying to teach a man like him who just wouldn’t learn?

Perhaps Javert was gone, never to return. Perhaps this too-bright room with its too-soft bed belonged to Cosette and the baron she had married.

The thought filled Valjean with such panic that for a moment he couldn’t breathe, his body clenching around the wooden implement inside him as his heart thudded painfully against his ribcage.

Anything but that. Better to be left forgotten in the cellar, even if Javert would never return again. Better to die there, where he belonged for failing Javert again and again when it was Javert who had brought him water and bread and who had wasted so many long hours on teaching him how to be good...

Then the door opened, and Valjean gasped in relief when he saw that it was Javert who had arrived.

“You’re awake. Good,” Javert said as he approached the bed. “Get off the bed. I don’t ever want to see you on my furniture, unless I order it. Is that understood?”

Hastily, Valjean slid off the bed, ignoring his sore body’s twinge as the motion jarred the wooden thing inside him.

“Yes,” he said, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming wave of relief that he hadn’t been forgotten, that Javert wasn’t disappointed, that Javert was still willing to waste his time on him.

His eyes were wet with gratitude when he pressed his cheek against Javert’s leg, followed by the desperate desire to prove himself when Javert’s hand came to rest on his head for a moment.

“This is your new home,” Javert said. “You’ll sleep there when I’m not using you.”

He pointed at a rug next to his bed. Near it, a length of chain was attached to the wall.

Valjean looked at it in wonder, barely able to believe what he saw. Could this really be true? To sleep in a room with a window where he’d see the sun every day—to be trusted to sleep in Javert’s own bedroom!

The thought was so overwhelming Valjean could barely make sense of it, although he soon came to see it was no dream, although it seemed impossible he should have earned such a reward.

Still, Javert had taken him into his own home, had even prepared his own bedroom for him. There, by the rug, the familiar bowl was placed. A short distance away, something else had been affixed to the wall. It served the same purpose as the rod of steel had in his old cell, although this was a lovingly crafted phallus, new and gleaming, polished wood rather than steel.

Soon, there was a new routine to Valjean’s days, although his mornings remained much the same, Javert scrubbing him with the soap until he was clean and his body stung. Then he was left to his own devices while Javert washed and dressed and had his breakfast—a time which Valjean used to press himself back against the wooden cock until his buttocks met the wall, the phallus lodged deep inside him and Javert’s metal tools agonizingly tight around his cock and balls to help him achieve his task without embarrassing himself.

It was still a long, arduous task to milk himself until his balls were sore and empty, but it had become easier over time, although Valjean’s body was learning its lesson only slowly despite Javert’s help.

Once Javert had inspected the amount he’d milked from himself, the bowl was placed in front of Valjean and he lapped up his own breakfast, eager and warmed by Javert’s approval. Then he was let out into the garden.

The house Javert lived in was small. The garden was just as small, surrounded by the walls of Javert’s house on two sides, the windowless wall of a neighboring building on another side, and a high wall topped with shards of glass set in the mortar on the fourth side. There was a door in that wall which Javert used when he left in the mornings and returned in the evenings. It was always locked.

When Javert left for work, he let Valjean out into the garden. He’d affix the same wooden tool that kept Valjean’s balls sharply pulled back and tightly clasped behind his thighs, so that Valjean had no choice but to remain on his knees. Then, for all the hours that Javert went outside, Valjean was left on his own in the small garden, the sun warming his bare skin during those warm summer days.

At first, the chain connecting his pierced nipples had been connected in turn to a short chain looping around a tree, keeping him far away from the door in the wall. Over time, the chain grew longer so that Valjean could explore the small garden to his heart’s content while Javert was gone. One day, there was no chain at all, just the wooden bar keeping a strict grasp on his balls—but Valjean was grateful for that as well, always worried that he might displease Javert when Javert had been so generous to him.

In autumn, a small hut appeared, large enough for a big dog. There was a layer of straw on the ground, and when the weather turned rainy, Valjean would curl up inside it, breathing in the scent of wet grass and damp soil and watching the door in the wall yearningly, awaiting Javert’s return.

One day, when the weather was good and Valjean had explored the garden, finding several apples on the ground beneath the tree although he knew better than to touch them without Javert’s permission, his gaze fell on the wall again. At first he didn’t realize anything was amiss. It was only when a passing bumblebee drew his gaze back to the wall that he realized with sudden shock that the door was slightly ajar.

For long minutes, Valjean gazed at it, suddenly afraid.

This had never happened before. Confusion at this interruption of his day made his heart race in his chest in terror. Had Javert forgotten to lock the door behind him when he went out?

Valjean stared at it, uncertain. He tried to imagine what was on the other side of that door, but the mere thought was terrifying. And then a worse possibility came to his mind. What if Javert thought that Valjean had forced the door open on his return? What if he thought that Valjean had tried to escape?

Panic rose inside Valjean.

What if Javert decided that he’d wasted enough time on Valjean? What if Javert threw him out? Where would he go?

The streets behind the open door suddenly frightened him. Inside these walls, his life was clearly defined; there were firm rules and expectations. And although he knew that he continually fell short of what Javert expected, Javert at least understood. Javert knew just what Valjean was and was willing to mete out the harsh correction a man like him needed.

Out there, he’d be utterly on his own, left to his own devices—who knew what he would do! Javert had shown him with brutal clarity just how little control he had over himself—even now, many months later, it took the bite of the iron spikes around his genitals and the daily milking to keep his body under control.

What other man would be willing to be so lenient and invest so much work into Valjean? What other man would understand that Valjean wasn’t to be trusted—that no matter how much the spikes might make him weep, he understood the need for them and was grateful for Javert’s discipline?

Again Valjean’s gaze was pulled towards the open door. He could not see what was beyond. Only a sliver of light fell in, strangely bright against the dark stone of the wall.

Beyond those walls were strangers who would look at Valjean’s bare body and at his scars; they’d know him for the dangerous man he was and would run in fear.

And out there, somewhere in this city, if he followed those streets long enough, there’d be a house with a garden and windows filled with light. In that house, Cosette lived—his Cosette, no longer the child who’d taken his hand so trustingly and made him laugh, but a woman now; not Cosette, but another man’s wife, a baron’s wife, with all the good things she deserved, untainted by Valjean’s sins.

The world beyond these walls was her world—the world of busy streets, where people walked in parks and sat in opera boxes and entertained their friends. That was her life and her world.

His world was this small garden and the house and the walls that kept him safe. His world was—Javert.

The thought of Javert made him smile in sudden relief. Javert would right everything that was wrong. Javert would close the door and lock it upon his return, and even if he might beat Valjean for having looked at it, Valjean would be grateful; he knew he didn’t deserve Javert’s lenience.

And then Valjean’s world would return to what he knew, what was safe.

Valjean turned away from the door in the wall, ignoring his small hut to go and curl up on the doorstep instead. There he patiently awaited Javert’s return, ignoring the hum of the bumblebees and the rustling of the leaves of the apple tree.

***

That night, for the very first time, Valjean was allowed onto Javert’s bed. He watched quietly as Javert undressed, still worried that it might all have been a test of his devotion to Javert which he might have failed—hadn’t he, even if only for a moment, thought of leaving?

But Javert hadn’t mentioned the door in the wall. He had spent his evening as usual—and so had Valjean, grateful when Javert fed him after Javert had eaten his own dinner. Now, as he knelt on Javert’s bed, he felt the anxiety return, the feeling that something had shaken the boundaries of his world, the open door a gateway to a world in which he didn’t belong.

Javert didn’t say anything to ease his worries, but when he finally settled down on the bed as well, his mere presence was enough to calm Valjean. He nuzzled gratefully into Javert’s touch when he touched Valjean’s cheek thoughtfully.

Javert was naked, his cock hard. Valjean didn’t dare to look at it, even though he couldn’t help but feel a thrill knowing that Javert was aroused—and that Valjean was on the bed with him, awake and aware of everything that happened instead of unconscious.

Javert smiled, touching Valjean’s lips. “If you keep behaving, I’ll teach you how to suck my cock. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Valjean said fervently, a shiver running through him when Javert stroked his face in approval.

“That’s a reward for another day. Now turn around.”

Valjean allowed Javert to position him on the bed—on his side, his back against Javert’s chest, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest as he wondered if today, at last, Javert might make use of him—and if Valjean might pass this test. What if his body were to disobey now, when Javert had finally rewarded him by giving him a chance to prove that he was more than an animal, that he could be of use here to Javert in his bed without disgracing himself?

Even though Valjean’s heart was racing with helpless excitement, his cock was soft and his balls sore and empty. He allowed his legs to spread for Javert, focusing on relaxing his body when Javert stroked a finger against his hole.

“If you think this is about you—”

“No. I know it’s not,” Valjean said vehemently. “I want to be useful to you.”

Javert made an appreciative sound.

“Silent now,” he then said.

Valjean fell obediently quiet, listening to his heartbeat as Javert turned away from him. When Javert settled back against him a moment later, Valjean could feel his cock against his thigh. It was hot and slick. Valjean exhaled, trying to calm his jittery nerves and relax—this was about Javert’s pleasure. He couldn’t ruin this. He wouldn’t, not when it had taken so long to learn how to please Javert.

Valjean focused on the sound of his own breathing, his eyes on the window. Javert’s cock nudged against his hole and then slid inside, Valjean’s fingers tightening into the sheets in awe at the sensation. His body put up no resistance after the many months that he’d spent with first the metal rod and then the wooden phallus penetrating him.

Still, Javert’s cock felt different. It was a warm, living thing inside him, hot and hard and sliding easily in and out of his body. Only now did Valjean realize that this was truly what he had been made for—the phallus that stretched him every morning and massaged him through the slow, agonizing emptying of his balls was nothing compared to the sensation of Javert taking his pleasure.

Tears brimmed in Valjean’s eyes at the sudden awareness that this was what Javert had tried to teach him all along. He felt a sudden, burning shame that it still took the iron spikes clamped tightly around his own cock to keep him in line. The selfishness of it sickened him—how could his body struggle against the iron spikes, again and again, when he could have this instead? The slow, warm burn of Javert’s cock sliding deep into his body, Javert’s pleased moans against his skin, his hole no longer struggling futilely against penetration but yielding and giving way to Javert’s desires was as it should have been all along, and Javert had always known that.

Javert’s possession of him was the most pleasurable thing Valjean had ever felt. Even when the rhythm of Javert’s thrusts picked up, coming harder and faster so that with every move, Valjean could feel Javert’s heavy scrotum slap against his empty balls, his cock remained limp, curling forgotten against his thigh—his sole pleasure that of Javert.

Javert’s teeth dug into his shoulder. Then he came with a satisfied groan, his hips jerking against Valjean for a long moment as the heat of his release filled Valjean with pulse after pulse. The sensation was so overwhelming that Valjean had to struggle to keep silent, his entire body hot and throbbing with Javert’s satisfaction.

When he was done, Javert didn’t pull out. Instead, his hand sought out Valjean’s cock. Valjean had remained soft, and Javert sighed in deep contentment. His hand curved around Valjean’s soft cock and fondled him gently for a while, thumb idly nudging Valjean’s empty balls that still bore the bruises of this morning’s milking. Despite the ache, Valjean was grateful for the touch; there was joy in the knowledge that his body pleased Javert. It was only after long minutes had passed that Valjean realized that silent tears were running down his own face.

“Why are you crying?” Javert murmured, his voice rough and satisfied.

Valjean realized he didn’t know. What was there to cry about, now that he’d finally proved himself worthy of serving Javert?

He gasped when Javert finally pulled free, suddenly filled by an unbearable sensation of emptiness as warmth trickled from his hole.

Javert slapped his thigh appreciatively. “As soft and yielding as the first time. Now get off the bed.”

Valjean scrambled to obey, curling up on his rug instead. On the bed, Javert stretched with another sound of satisfaction.

Valjean trained his eyes on him, and little by little, the aching emptiness inside him became easier to bear. Javert had been pleased with him. Javert had found pleasure in his body. Valjean had been allowed into Javert’s bed, had felt Javert inside him.

He slept in a room filled with light and spent his evenings near Javert, and he was given chance after chance to prove himself.

There was no reason for tears and the aching, empty sensation in his chest. He had more than he deserved. And if he couldn’t be grateful for that, it was all the more reason for Javert to be severe.


End file.
